


A Spark

by reserve



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2020 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Blow Jobs, Dylan Strome is a Switch, F/M, Gay Porn Hard, M/M, Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: “You looked good yesterday,” Alex said, meaning it. “You should always dress how you like. You don’t belong in a crappy team polo.”
Relationships: Adam Boqvist/Kirby Dach, Alex DeBrincat/Dylan Strome
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	A Spark

**Author's Note:**

> In the grand tradition of big games, here’s some Gay Porn Hard with the hope that these boys can force a game 5 and that Alex gets the goals he deserved last night.

“Here,” said Kirby. “Put this on.” 

“Come on man, no way.” Adam laughed with his whole body. He shoved at the hand Kirby was holding out to him, a black, fabric mask dangling from two fingers. “I’m not wearing that. Whose is that even?” 

“You’re no fun,” Alex grumbled. He was watching from the other bed in Adam’s room, head propped up on his hand, the other tucked under the pillow. 

Even though they didn’t have roommates in the bubble, most of the younger guys had made Adam’s room the default hangout spot, maybe because Adam was so easy to fuck with. And Alex wasn’t about to lie to himself: he loved that Boqy was hilariously responsive but still a good sport about them constantly taking the piss. 

“You know they’re not going to leave you alone until you do it,” said Dylan, looking up from his cell phone with a mildly exasperated expression. He was right, and as the friend who took the most shit before Adam got to the show, he would know. 

“Don’t you trust us?” Kirby wheedled, grinning. “Don’t you want your birthday surprise?” 

“A depressing cupcake like Regs got? I don’t want that.” 

“It’s not that,” Dylan said. “Poor fucking guy.” 

“Then what is it?” For the first time since Kirby suggested the blindfold, Adam looked mildly game. 

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Alex cut in. “And that means wearing a blindfold.” 

“Yeah,” said Kirby. “Exactly.” 

Dylan sighed, long-suffering. An old hand at this sort of treatment. Alex almost missed those days, back in junior when he and Davo would team up against him for laughs. Dylan probably rued the day he asked Davo if Alex could be let into their world of two. 

“Boqy.” A significant look passed between Adam and Dylan. Alex could see it: almost like you might be able to see a telegraph travel the airways, or a text message get sent. Obviously he couldn’t actually see it, but it was sort of like communicating on the ice: clear, unequivocal. 

“Fine, fine, okay.” Adam held up his hands in defeat, his smile faltering a little. Maybe Alex _had_ been a little too rough with him lately; egging Kirby on probably hadn't helped. The two of them were thick as thieves, like him and Dyl when they were a little younger, but then Adam had moved in with him, and Kirby was brought into Alex’s sphere of influence too. 

_A lot in a little_ , that’s what his mother said about him. He wasn’t the loudest guy in the room, or the most talkative: monikers like those belonged to guys like Dylan or Seabs, but he had presence. He possessed a kind of magnetism that was felt but went unspoken. Unless you were Dylan—Alex almost smirked to himself—Dylan was never quiet about Alex’s draw. 

Adam stood still and let Kirby place the mask over his eyes. Alex watched him adjust Adam’s hair so that his long bangs still lay properly across his forehead, so that he still looked good. It was cute; they were cute. 

“Can you see?” Kirby asked. “Be honest.” 

“No,” Adam said. His hands went up to the mask and Kirby pulled them back down and held them. Dylan met Alex’s eyes from across the room with a pair of raised eyebrows that said, “I told you so.” 

They had been in a quiet argument for weeks about whatever was going on with Adam and Kirby. Dylan was certain they were banging or at least wanted to; Alex wasn’t sure. He couldn’t picture it, it didn’t feel obvious to him. 

The last time it came up, Dylan had elbowed him in the ribs and then pulled him close, put his hands on Alex’s shoulders. “Not everyone broadcasts exactly what they like to the whole world, you know,” he’d said. “Subtlety _does_ exist.” 

“Not with you, babe.” 

“You’re so mean,” was Dylan’s reply, but Alex had laughed and dragged him from beside the hotel bed down onto the comforter, practically shaking with it while he snuck his fingers into Dylan’s tight little trousers to grope at his dick. 

That had been at the start of all this—their improbable playoff run, which was now on the edge of ending—before Dylan got in his feelings about Davo and refused to come out of them for nearly two games against the fucking Knights. 

“We ready?” He asked no one in particular, checking his Rolex. Kaner would be pissed if they were late. 

“Ready,” confirmed Kirby. He was holding Alex’s hands still, probably to keep him from taking the mask off. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dylan asked, unfolding himself from the desk chair. He wasn’t holding up any. 

“Three,” said Adam. “How is my hair?” 

“Perfect,” Kirby said, and fuck, but maybe Dylan was right, because he sounded so sincere it almost made _Alex_ embarrassed for him. But Adam had been scratched on Thursday. He deserved a little bit of honest affection, a little birthday surprise. He only hoped it wouldn’t go unappreciated at this point, after all the buildup. He was part of their team; he wasn’t a Black Ace, he wasn’t going down to Rockford when the next season began, if it ever did. Alex refused to think about how this might be the last time this particular group of people ever played together. He couldn’t face that, not with two games left, not with _Athletic_ writers questioning his leadership, his ability, his clutchness. 

He needed to get hot. Dylan needed to get his head out of his ass. One sick passing play for the two of them and Kaner wasn’t enough and Alex knew it.

“Ok fellas,” said Kirby. He looked so damned pleased with himself. “Operation Boqy’s Birthday commences now. Please keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle and remain seated at all times.” 

‘We need to walk to the lobby,” Alex said. 

“Right, well. Uh.” 

“Let’s go,” said Dylan. Alex caught his eye again. “Otherwise Kitty is going to murder us all for making him late. And I don’t think there are enough guys to replace all three of us. We have a game in five hours. Masks on, boys.”

“Two of them?” Adam groaned, but Alex was elsewhere and didn’t appreciate the picture he made. 

_Five hours._

“You guys go down,” he said, coming to a sudden conclusion. “We’ll catch you up.” 

“This is my room,” Adam protested. 

“Don’t worry about it. Go on. We’ll be right there.” 

“Yeah, all right,” said Kirby, leading Adam to the door. “No worries, man. See you in a minute.”

Kirby was good like that. Alex could rely on him, he’d realized. Kirby also knew they were just getting a very early dinner at the one restaurant that didn’t suck inside the bubble, but that also required a reservation, basically impossible to get with so many people all stuck going to the same places day in and day out. 

“Very subtle, Kit” Dylan said, standing just a step away from him as the door closed behind their teammates. 

“I need a spark,” Alex said. He turned to face Dylan, to push him up against the wall beside the door with his hips, his hands moving to hold Dylan’s cheeks. The guy already had his sunglasses on. With the mask on he looked horribly unknowable. “Take those off.”

Dylan complied, and Alex pulled both their masks down and tilted his chin up to kiss him. 

“I can be your spark,” Dylan said, wrapping his arms around Alex and holding him close, widening his stance so that Alex would fit a leg between his and keep him pinned. 

They kissed for a little bit, grinding together like two kids in someone’s parents’ bedroom at a house party. No use for the bed, no need. Dylan’s mouth was familiar territory; Alex’s home away from home. His tongue moved in exactly the way Alex liked. In some ways, they’d learned to kiss on each other, they’d made themselves for each other when it came to this. Dylan knew exactly what drove him crazy—maybe more than Lindsey even. He let Alex bite at his lips, and when Alex was feeling generous _he’d_ let Dylan push down on his windpipe and gasp prettily for him. He didn’t like ceding control but he loved to see Dylan’s grateful expression when Alex allowed him to take liberties. 

“You’re done moping?” Alex asked, when they broke apart for a moment to breathe. 

“I wasn’t—“ Dylan tried for another kiss and Alex stopped him. 

“You _were_.” 

“You could try having feelings.” Dylan pouted at him, which made Alex shift his thigh and press in. “See how that—“ he trailed off into a groan when Alex moved against him. 

“I’ve got feelings right now.” 

“We can’t—“ 

“I can blow you, though. Can’t I?”

“That’s.” Dylan visibly swallowed. “That’s what you want?” 

“You looked good yesterday,” Alex said, meaning it. “You should always dress how you like. You don’t belong in a crappy team polo.” 

“You make...you make it look hot,” Dylan said, always ready with a compliment. Always ready to build him up. “Your arms—“

“Stop.” Alex hushed him. “Do you want your dick sucked or not?” 

“Yeah. _Yeah,_ I want—fuck, who doesn’t?” 

Alex didn’t do this often, was the truth. Wasn’t really his thing. Dylan, on the other hand: champion cocksucker. Loved it. Alex knew he had it good at home and on the road. 

“Okay, okay then.” He started to get to his knees and then stopped. “Hands at your sides though, no touching. No fucking up my hair.” 

“Someone’s in a mood.” 

“Dyl.” 

Right.” Dylan looked like his eyes were going to roll back at the light command in Alex’s voice. He really was so easy for it. So game. “Whatever you say.” 

“Palms flat to the wall,” Alex said in the same tone. He opened Dylan’s trousers. He was already hard, from the kissing—and probably the instructions. Dylan smelled clean, freshly showered and cologned because they were supposed to be going out. Because he was a fastidious person when he wasn’t a mess. He had a nice dick, so far as Alex thought about dicks, but sometimes he felt like he never would have if he hadn’t met Dylan at 17 or so, and if they hadn’t somehow come together in a tangle not too long after, with Dylan telling him over and over how badly he wanted Alex to fuck him in a way that felt like a joke until it absolutely was not. 

Connor had literally thought it was a joke, was the thing. Anyway. 

“God, Kit,” Dylan groaned, when Alex stroked him once, shade too tight the way he liked it. He groaned louder when Alex actually put his mouth on him. 

Alex held Dylan’s dick at the base and curled his tongue around the tip over and over. Alex wasn’t hard at all, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about that. He seldom felt the desire to be used but he wanted it now. He wanted to feel like he was good for something; like he body was able to do exactly as he told it to, or forced it to. 

He pulled off and Dylan made a miserable sound, a second away from vehement protest. 

“Forget what I said about hands,” Alex panted. 

“Yeah?”

“Just. Just go for it, okay? I want—“ 

“I can—“ 

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck. Okay. Okay.” Dylan’s eyes were normally lidded but they looked extra droopy and soft from this angle. 

“I know how you are,” Alex said. “Do it like that.” 

“Open your mouth then,” Dylan said, his whole demeanor shifting, his posture changing from a desperate slouch to something else entirely. “Go on, Kit. Make it good for me.” 

Alex listened. He dropped his jaw and let Dylan wrap one massive hand around the back of his while the other fed his dick into Alex’s mouth, past his lips and as deep as he could go before Alex gagged slightly, but that was what he wanted. To be pushed.

“Love your hair this long,” Dylan said, grunting. He took a handful of it and pulled Alex forward on his dick to meet his hips. Alex felt his knees skid slightly on the hotel carpet. He made Dylan forget how strong he was. He liked the reminder. “Love you like this, Kit. So… so fucking hot.” 

Alex garbled his assent and through the haze of sensation—the way Dylan filled his mouth to the edges of his lips, the way his scalp burned and his knees ached, and his hands clutched at Dylan’s thighs—he felt himself chubbing up at last. His eyes were watering and he could taste the beginnings of Dylan’s come on his tongue, coating the roof of his mouth. He concentrated on relaxing his throat, thought about the times Dylan had let him do this, the way he always said something filthy keen and repulsive, like the time he told Alex to fuck his face like a cunt, to get him wet. 

Who even said cunt? 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dylan was chanting. His hips were staccato and ceaseless. “I’m gonna,” he said. “Open up for me, baby. Put your fingers—“ 

Alex didn’t have time to reach back. He retched slightly through the crux of it, swallowed as best he could and then rested his forehead on Dylan’s naked hip. He breathed through his nose while Dylan petted his hair and cooed at him, his dick softening against Alex’s chin, damp and vulnerable feeling. 

“You okay? You want me to?” 

Alex coughed, then grunted and pulled himself to his feet He wanted to collapse into Adam’s bed and sleep for a week but at the same time he felt bright, energized, lit up. He was still hard and the knife’s edge of desire made him hungry and taut.

“I’m good.” He smiled in a way that felt sharp at Dylan who gave him doe eyes in return, dopey and ruined even though it was Alex’s jaw that ached. 

“You might wanna.” Dylan thumbed at the corner of his mouth and then popped the digit past his own lips. 

“Ugh,” Alex said. “You’re truly disgusting.” 

“You— _hey_.” He wrestled Alex into a hug and held him, face in his hair, Alex’s head tucked under his chin. “Are you sure you’re good?” 

“Yeah. I think I am.”

Trapped in Dylan’s embrace, Alex felt the last of some unnamed angst inside him unfurl and leave fire in its wake. 

A spark.   
  



End file.
